She was nothing, in the great scheme of things.

Rowan's childhood friend: that was it, was what sealed her spot in the Chosen One's party and it'd made sense when they'd started, when it was just her and him and the long road ahead. But now?

Everyone in the kingdom knows the prophecy, now; has heard of the one fated to be the downfall of the Demon King, and of Rowan's steadily-growing list of victories over every monster and opponent they faced.

Now, it's not just her who's in his party– there's the cleric who joined them three towns after Rowan killed the wyrm plaguing her village, the barbarian who regularly fist-fought bears for fun, and the paladin who singlehandedly defeated the Demon King's general by the mountain pass, and the point is, she has no place here.

She knows it, so do the others. She's not the best hunter, or healer, or cook: she's dead weight slowing almost the entire party down, just another mouth to feed and a liability in just about every fight they get into. She's a mere village girl, surrounded by legends in the making. Regularly sets up a bedroll next to the cleric capable of reattaching limbs without batting an eye, and the mage who summons fireballs with a flick of the wrist and a quicksilver smile, and if she thinks about it too much, she can't help but feel lightheaded because, really, she is in way over her head.

But she can't leave.

The first and only time she'd so much as brought it up, Rowan had stood stock-still for a second, and the look on his face meant she immediately laughed it off as a joke. The other party members, too, had all paled, and she might not be as close to the others but there was no mistaking the fear in their eyes. Fear, from the people who'd slain a black dragon not the week before and that's when she realizes the severity of the situation.

It'd be funny, if the fate of the kingdom didn't depend on them.

Depend on her, being at the Chosen One's side.

Why her? All she'd done was be at the right place at the right time, and hadn't thought twice about befriending the neighbors' son when he was around her age. He'd been all solemn eyes and shy smiles and she hadn't really thought much of the childish promises they'd made at the time, the ones of what they wanted to be when they grew up, of exploring together–

But here they were: two people caught up in a prophecy about the fate of the kingdom that saw them hundreds of miles from home, with far too many near-death experiences for comfort. The boy she'd once taught to climb trees was now the wielder of a legendary sword, and she... had a battered lute she'd gotten for two coppers and a spare hair ribbon, because it'd been her first birthday away from home.

After battles with monsters, and assassination attempts, and far more tavern brawls than anyone bothered to count; after the cities' names started blurring together, and dozens of letters home, and filling multiple journals with all the sights and names of their adventures– the day of the Demon King's fall finally arrived.

The day that would determine the future of the kingdom, and, more importantly, would let them finally go home.

Predictably, she was in way over her head. Shouldn't have set foot anywhere near the Demon King's castle; but Rowan needed her, the same way he'd always had.

So when the moment comes, it really, really shouldn't have been a surprise when the inevitable happened. When everyone else was desperately fending off the hordes of demons, and Rowan lost his footing for a second as the Demon King lunged, and–

She was nothing, in the great scheme of things.

But she tried her best anyway, even though she knew she was doomed even as she managed to crack her lute on his skull.

​

That didn't keep Rowan from losing it, though.

Didn't keep the Chosen One from finishing what she'd started, dispatching the dreaded Demon King with a roar and sweeping up her up in his arms, desperate for a way to stop the bleeding.

Didn't keep the battle from crashing to a halt, as he screamed her name, and clutched her to his chest long after the light had left her eyes.

​

She was nothing, in the great scheme of things– but she was his world.

So Rowan found himself picking up the Demon King's treatise on necromancy, after the cleric's failure in reviving his beloved. Because what was the point of all this, of saving the kingdom and defeating the monster who'd terrorized them all, if he couldn't go home again?

(He would never, ever let her go.)